Ro Daniels: Who Are You?

I’ve been writing this blog regularly for a few months now, and an attentive reader has probably built up some kind of picture of the girl behind the keyboard.

For those who don’t take careful notes every time I post anything, I thought I’d try and sum myself up. Give you a bit of context and that. However, as anyone who’s ever tried to write a CV knows, describing yourself in a couple of paragraphs is a pretty colossal task.

Where do you even begin?

Then, in bed last night, I remembered something – an event which, I think, tells you absolutely everything you need to know about Ro Daniels (ie yours truly).


Artist’s depiction of me.

It was March. I was living with a Russian host family in St Petersburg, and the weather was testing my physical endurance: it was -25 out with wind chill. The streets were slathered in sheet ice; walking to the bus was treacherous; standing outside was suicidal.


I let myself into the flat, frozen stiff from the two minute walk from the bus stop, draped in piles of clothes, eyeballs feeling more solid than normal. I felt like my legs, covered in a mere two pairs of trousers, had been skinned with a blunt knife.

The flat was mercifully warm and there was a delicious smell coming from the kitchen. My host mum, an angel constantly concerned that I didn’t eat enough, offered me a bowl of soup.

We sat at the kitchen table together, she drinking a cup of coffee, me hunched over my soup so the steam melted my frozen eyebrows. We chatted about the weather, about politics (a delicate topic that I always tried to avoid), about Russian books she thought I should read. I felt perfectly at home, and the soup and conversation warmed my heart and tummy.

Then, I saw it. In the soup. A spider. Quite a big spider, meaty. Legs curled up like a fist. And, dear reader, here comes the part of the story that tells you about me.


Reader, I ate the spider.

Not only did I eat the spider, I didn’t even think for a second about what I could do to avoid it. Like, I could have politely said, “Zoya, there’s a spider in my soup.” Or I could have just, I don’t know, not eaten the fucking spider. I could’ve left it in the bowl, or delicately picked it out when Zoya, my host mum, was looking at her phone.

No, it never occured to me for a second that there was another option; as soon as I saw the spider I accepted my fate, and my fate was to dine on insects rather than experience a, at the very worst, slightly embarrassing situation.

I hope you feel like you know me better now. I am Ro, eater of spiders.


  1. moyatori · Jul 15, 2018

    Instant respect.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. julielelder · Jul 15, 2018

    OH NO! That’s straight from a nightmare for me…and I’m feeling a bit nauseated now….

    Liked by 1 person

  3. The Vintage Toy Advertiser · Jul 16, 2018

    Keep your enemies close. Better you eat that thing than have it crawl into your ear at night and drop a thousand babies in your brain. The spider that lives on the ceiling above my desk caught a big greenfly type insect the other day. It was wrapping it up in its webbing as they do, then later I saw something drop on top of my keyboard and it was the wings. Gross. The spider was happy to eat the body but not the wings. I took it as kind of gift from the spider to me for me not ever squishing it and letting it live above me in peace. Thanks, but I’m not eating wings, don’t know where they’ve been. But I do think, and totally inspired by you, if spider above falls into my food I will eat it (so long as the fall has killed it first).

    Liked by 1 person

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